The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
by mademestutter
Summary: Blaine graduates from college and he works as a freelancer most of the time. He is slowly giving up on the hope of finding the one true love and settles for one-night-stands. That is, until the encounter in a morning in March.
1. One Fine Spring Day

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Glee/Klaine.

This is my first Klaine fic. I have no beta and I'm horrible at summary so I'd be really really happy if any of you guys would offer to help in that area.

In this AU, Blaine and Kurt never met in Ohio. Blaine left Ohio when he graduated from Dalton and got to New York. I'm researching for college in NY that has musical/theatre apartment and I'd love it if you know one and reccomend it for me. :)

This can be continue. Rating may go up if certain scenes are needed.

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><p>I wake up with a searing pain in the lower half of my body - the result that last night's guy left - he was being rather forceful and it's been a long time since I bottomed. He also showed fondness for bondage, which explains the red marks around my wrists. I occasionally hook up with random guys I find in bars. I don't go for types, don't even care about making small talks. I just have to make sure they are not psychopaths that will try to kill me when we finish having 'fun', other than that, any decent looking guy will do fine. I'm done being picky, standards are for relationships, long-term commitments, not one-night-stands.<p>

Blinking as I look at the empty place next to me, it is empty, cold even. He must have left as soon as we finished. I purse my lips, that dude didn't seem to be the type to be embarrassed easily, I mean, he practically shoved it down my throat the minute we came to my apartment. Then again, I might have misjudged him, I knew him for like five minutes before we stumbled outside the bar to take the cab. It was quite a surprise I even got the chance to extend my hand and said, '_Blaine_'. You know, basic human knowledge of hooking up with guys, a name for them to call during sex. But he might forget it, just like I did. I didn't even utter a single coherent word last night. Of course there would be cursing but I didn't yell his name. I bit my lower lips as hard as I could.

The jobs I'm doing need my voice. From Wednesday to Friday, I'm a barista at a coffee shop, my shifts take place during the morning. On Friday nights and weekends, I'm a waiter for an Italian restaurant that takes a fifteen-walking-minute from my apartment. I keep my schedule open most of the time. I'm what they call 'freelancer' or 'last minute replacement'. It started when a friend of mine needed help at her part-time job, she had to audition for a play, I was free and well, rather short on money. After that she got the part and I got her job. It paid well and the boss was nice. My other friends came to me and asked for help after that, we agreed on the paying and I just took enough for myself. People tell people and honestly, I would almost do anything to pay the rent. I need to work hard just to keep living in New York. I still have my fair share of money after I left Ohio for New York but that doesn't mean I can sit around at home all day and just play guitar and write songs. Although that idea is rather appealing.

I crane my neck to look at the small table clock, it says 'Tuesday, half past seven'. That means I get to spend my morning on my own free will, either I'll stay at home and bore myself to death or go looking for jobs around the city and/or have breakfast. I choose the latter.

So I stumble awkwardly out of my bed , still half-naked - I had put my pants on at some point last night - and walk toward the closet, choosing a white V-neck and black jeans, then grab a towel and head straight for the bathroom.

Water runs down from the top of my curly hair to my chest, I shiver a bit at the jabbing coldness, waking up fully after I finish. Normally I'd shower right after, I can't really take being sweaty for too long, I must be tired and exhausted then, the sex wasn't _that_ good for me to forget such a ritual. As I look at my reflection in the mirror, I can't help but cast a disgusting look at the bruises. This is what you get for ignoring all the signs. I should have known by now to not judge a book by its cover. Or to not judge a boring looking man for his boring expression.

If anyone asked me, I'd say one-night-stands weren't my first option. But after few failed attempts at dating and such, both in Ohio and New York, I find hooking up is much easier than relationship. And yet, it's laughable that I still believe in meeting_ the one_.

Sighing I put on the clothes and comb my hair. I decide to give up after ten minutes, I hardly use gel anymore, it costs money and I have no need to keep appearance in front of people. I borrow my colleagues' bottle when I work as a waiter. At first they looked at me as if I'm insane, it would take a whole bottle to tame my curls and they weren't willing to give it up. Yet when they saw the phone numbers I got from the female customers they would say it was their help that I'd look that dapper. _Jerks_. Must have been sore to see a gay dude being hit on by hot chicks while yourselves get none.

Putting aside the annoying thoughts, I pick up my wallet, carefully counting the cash and put it back in my jeans' pocket. I grab the black, almost vintage - as in old and worn out - jacket and put it on. Something fall out in the process. My eyebrows furrow as I bend down to pick them up. There is five hundred dollars. Cash. No business card. No memo or phone number note. Just cash.

I clench my teeth as a sudden realization hits me. That bastard thought I was a hooker. _A hooker_. Do I look like one? Do I dress like one? And five hundred dollars, _really_? Am I _that_ cheap? Sure, I'm not that _tall_ or appealing, but what about that blow job, it surely worths more than _just _five hundred. Or was he scared that I'd go and find his friends and blame him for the bruises? So this is for keeping my mouth shut. Fuck him. Stupid bastard and his stupid money. Now I don't even know what I'd do to the money in my hand. I don't know his name and barely remember his face, how can I dramatically throw the bills on his face then? And if I use it, it means I accept money for sex, and it wasn't even mind-blowing or anything.

Five minutes of mind battle, I decide it's not worth it to trouble myself for such matter, so I stuff the bills in the other pocket and head outside, sticking to my original plan. If I can't find anything else to do, this will be the third month I live on cheap take-outs and cereals. The cereals aren't even nice.

The early morning air is fresh, but it is colder than I expected, the thin jacket I'm wearing should definitely show that. I close the door and walk down the stairs. I turn right when I'm on the street, I'll have breakfast first then go looking for jobs. There is a nice cafe three blocks down. They serve breakfasts and the coffee is decent. What matter most is the reasonable price. I found the place three months after my third year. A girl in my class was talking about taking her girlfriend there one morning and asked me if I knew the place. After I learned that it was so close to mine I decided to give it a chance, having no clue it'd turned out to be one of my favorite spots in New York (besides Central Park and a coffee shop on 39th street).

I walk faster for my stomach is beginning to growl. It's been more than twelve hours since I had anything down my throat (blow job not included). And I'm still angry at that complete bastard. I feel as though I'm doing the walk of shame so I glued my eyes to my feet. I speed up as I go and refuse to look up. Such thoughtless behavior results in a loud 'thump' on my head.

I finally collide with someone and hear a tiny yelp from her. I almost cry out the 'I'm so sorry miss can I help you?' before I see the other isn't a woman. It is a man. Boy? I can't really tell his age but I'm sure the girlish yelp is from him. He looks stunning with seemingly smooth and beautiful skin, his hair is styled carefully and I'm pretty sure that takes an awful lot of time. The clothes he's wearing are far more expensive from mine. And is that a Marc Jacobs jacket? Is that thing even affordable? I would go broke if I purchased such things. And _ohmygod_ I'm really making him uncomfortable just staring at him like that.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Let me help you with that." I get on one knee and start to collect the papers that must have been in his arms. "You must be in a hurry, I'm so _so_ sorry."

Out of the corner of my eyes I see him also gets on one knee. We lock eyes for a moment and I'm sure I've never seen anyone with such exquisite eyes colors like that. Looking at them almost makes me forget all the bad things in my life. The monthly rent, the struggling life of a freelancer, the dreams that will never come true, the bastard who makes me wanting to punch him in the face. All of those almost disappear.

Well, that is until my stomach starts growling. Again.

I'm certain that I'd die from embarrassment. My face should be in a deep shade of red right now. But the man chuckle softly and smiles at me. The term 'butterflies in the stomach' is probably for moments like this. It is stupid to feel nervous and happy for a stranger. _A beautiful stranger_. Still...

"Guess you're in a hurry too. Well, thank you for your help and sorry, I also didn't really pay much attention."

I smooth the papers and smile at him as I give them back, our fingers touching for a split second. He has nice hands, must be really soft given the initial look.

"The blame is all mine."

"You are dapper as you look, huh?" Despite the tone he is smiling. "I'd say we call it even."

I nod, it's been a while since anyone even mention the word 'dapper' in front of me, "My name's Blaine." I extend my hand for him.

He takes it after giving it a careful look, "Kurt."

His hands are truly soft. But I let it go after two shakes.

"Well, better get back to what we're doing. I'm in a hurry."

"Me, too." I lie. "See you around." Oh god am I stupid? This is New York for crying out loud. It's not like you can meet each other in our walk in a sea of people only knowing their first name.

Again, he chuckles and nods, "See you around, Blaine."

And we go our own way. At least he does. Me? I pretend to continue walking but after a few strides, I turn back and catch the man's, Kurt's figure the last time. It is slowly getting smaller second by second. I consider running back to him and give him my phone number and hope to get to meet him again. I laugh to myself. As if he would want to see you again, you're already a creepy stranger to start with. Besides, I gave up on hoping for miracles to happen a long time ago.

So I put my freezing hands in the pockets, return to walking and never look back.

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><p>It'd be lovely if you leave reviews. Reviews are awesome, like cookies but sugar-free.<p> 


	2. Nobody Knows Me

_I've had so many lives_  
><em>Since I was a child<em>  
><em>And I realise<em>  
><em>How many times I've died<em>  
><em>I'm not that kind of guy<em>  
><em>Sometimes I feel shy<em>  
><em>I think I can fly<em>  
><em>Closer to the sky<em>

_No ones telling you how to live your life_  
><em>But it's a setup until you're fed up<em>

_This world is not so kind_  
><em>People trap your mind<em>  
><em>It's so hard to find<em>  
><em>Someone to admire<em>

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><p>I must have been on auto-pilot mode because I arrive at the cafe with no memory of ever walking pass the usual bakery. Shaking my head lightly, as if I am trying to shake the idea of the man - Kurt - out of my head. I tried to convince myself that he's just a stranger, that soon he'll become one of the nameless faces in my memories. Soon I won't even remember my encounter with the most beautiful man I've ever met and won't even recall that his eyes' colors are grey, blue and green, all of those at the same time. So I grab the door handle, a bit too hard, push open the door and go inside.<p>

After five minutes standing in the line, finally it's my turn to order, "I'd like a Medium drip and a turkey sandwich. Also a packet of that pink-colored cookies, please," I point to the packets of cookies that are sitting on the trays. The barista repeats my order then announces the price, I pay and slip some coins in the 'tips' jar, receive my number and step out of the line. Another three minutes pass - yes, I keep that in check, not because I am that strict on timing, it's because I look in my watch and play with my phone so that I don't look stupid standing there - they call my name and I take the tray from the smiling barista. I return it with a 'thank you'. I quickly find my useful spot without much effort and since it's not yet occupied, I may as well claim it. I put my tray down and hang my jacket on the chair.

As I am taking tiny sips from my coffee, I notice the neat hand-writing on the paper ring around the cup. After taking a quick look at it, I know that her name is Suzy. She must be new then. Most of the old staffs from this place know me - it's not like I come here _tha_t often, no, not at all - and they know for a fact that I am gay. The same thing happened before. My third time coming here and the barista who had been giving me shy smiles and suggestive glances gave me her phone number. I refused her, politely of course. It didn't came for her as a shock, really, she even said something that similar to all the good guys are gays. I took no offense but why are people keeping assuming things they see without giving it second thoughts? It's like when you look this way or that way, you immediately become a stereotype in others' eyes and won't stand a chance to deny it.

So I roll the ring off, place it beneath the tray, picking my sandwich up and start eating. I finish it with lightning speed. Huh, guess I'm hungrier than I thought. I tear of the ribbon tied to the packet, taking out one by one, snapping them in halves and give them single bites. The cookies are delightful. Slightly sweeter than usual but I'm not complaining. May be accompanied by tea they will taste even better. It's a pity I'm a coffee addict.

I pick up my stuff - which is the old jacket - and prepare to leave the shop. I catch Suzy giving me a somewhat suggestive look, like she is trying to communicate with me nonverbally. I do what I usually do. I smile at her - the smile that Wes usually says 'No. 7: The you-are-in-my friend-zone' kind of smile. I don't know if she get it but I'm not really keen on finding it out. May be her co-workers will tell her later on. I don't know. It's not my business people don't take on hints I give, like the bright pink cookies packet for example.

The cafe door opens and sunlight comes shining in. I can feel the warmth on my face and hands. It's time to start the day.

—-

Today turned out to be a disaster. And it's not even finished yet.

Here I am walking back to my apartment, jobless. Well, the barista and waiter thing doesn't count. They are both part-time jobs and I do not enjoy a single minute running tables or calling orders. Sure, they pay okay. But not enough. Okay is never enough. Especially when you're living in New York. Of course I can always take some out of my account. The thing is, I don't want to depend on it too much. It comes from my parents and it'll just prove that they were right. He was right. And I can't bear living on the money of someone who won't even accept me. It's like a taunting game to him. Giving me money, let me do whatever I want. At the end of the day, it'll be me who keep running back expecting him to help me, to take shelter, to admit that 'being gay' is just a phase.

The lights are on. I can see my apartment ahead. Just a few feet away. There sits a comfy old sofa, with light fragrance of lavender and honey. Grandma's goodbye gift. She insisted I had it with me when I move here. Turned out it really is a 'goodbye' gift. Six months after my moving, grandma passed away. Her pearl necklaces went to my mother. Her clothes are kept at my aunt's house. Her sofa is now mine. I still remember the days I was a five-year-old kid, running around their house, excited for the monthly visit. Grandma would always sit there, always seemed to be knitting something. Whenever I asked, the answer would be, 'For your grandpa, dear'. I didn't know, grandpa passed away three year before I was born. My aunt told me once, the sofa was their love seat. Where grandpa would sit there, either watching something on the black and white TV or reading something. Where grandma would be knitting a sweater, a sock, a glove. They would talk and laugh and exchange endearing looks. His arm never left her shoulder. Her smile never left her lips.

Their love inspired me. It gives me hope. Makes me believe that I, too, can someday find _the one_ that is meant for me. Because isn't that what everyone wants? Sure there will come a day we sit in our house, content with our career, with money in the bank. But will that be true happiness when we can't find the right person to share it with?

Grandpa found his love. Grandma, too.

So when he was no longer there, it must be a great loss for her. Because suddenly, he was gone. Nowhere to be found. Completely disappear out of her life. That was why she could not bear the thought of living without him. The day grandma died, I went home and found my aunt clutching her hand, people were there. People that loved her. They still do. She was a lovely woman.

Mother was also there, right beside her bed. Expressionless. I wondered what Mother thought. Others had said she was so overwhelmed by feelings. She never really says anything out of frustration, always seems to be the calm, strict kind of parent. And Father is the 'fun' type. The allows-your-teenage-sons-do-everything-they-want. He's like the complete opposite of Mother. He shows feelings. So I had thought that when I come out, he'd be the one to show me some kind of acceptance. Silly thought, really.

Slowly I take the steps that lead to my apartment's door. Each step getting heavier and heavier. I had a small lunch at somewhere around 3. It was a serving of salad and burger accompanied by a can of Diet Coke. With the intention of saving more money, I took walking most of the time which result in my empty stomach right now.

Tired, rejected and hungry. Those three never prove to be good companions for a sleepy person. I open the apartment with a key hidden under the mat. The process of taking off my shoes, hanging my jacket and dumping clothes in the basket goes by like an every day routine. Too familiar to make out the different, like my mind is programmed to do those things without paying attention. Honestly, I'm too beat-up to even care. I take a quick shower. Using only a towel to cover my lower body. I will worry about catching a cold some time tomorrow. But not now. Now I just want to drown in a dreamless sleep and just sleep.

And that's the moment my phone chooses to ring. I groan and sit up, stretch out my right hand to find the damn phone that keeps ringing and ringing into my ears.

"It's Anderson. What's your business?" Wow, I am in a bad mood.

"Hello there, no, I don't need to go through formal greetings. Because that's not how normal people do. Seriously Blaine, where's your manner?" says David.

"Since when do you think you're the one to lecture me about manner?" I shoot back.

"True, true. Would it be more fitting if it's Wes? I mean, the dude is…"

"David, _come on_. You interrupt me and make me listen to you rambling?"

"Oh, not the right time huh? You with someone?" his voice is filled with mocking now.

"No, just going to bed early."

"Really? You sure you're not with a random stranger? Who go to bed at 10, except for toddler?"

"Me. And if you don't cut to the chase I'm hanging up."

"Okay, okay, I'm speaking! You sure are un-dapper when you're sleepy."

"David." I warn.

"Puck's out tomorrow. Said he want to be at this important family meeting. And we're short on staffs."

"And you believe him?"

"Ah…"

"See? The dude's not even in contact with his mother anymore."

"I don't know. It's just he kept nagging and black-mailing me the past week and I really don't want to meet the Puckster."

"The… Puckster?" What the hell, am I hallucinating?

"His fist."

"David, you are the manager! You keep him under control!"

"I know, I know. But I also want to keep my pretty face from injuries. My face is my business dude. Customers don't go to restaurant just for food." says David.

I let out an honest laugh. It takes David five full minutes to calm me down.

"Oh god, that was a good laugh. Thanks, David. I really needed that."

"Har har, laugh all you want. So, are you up for it?"

"I don't know, it's such a short notice."

"We'll raise it by 25%." says David. The tone of his voice full of panic.

"David, I'm busy these days."

"30%."

"60%." I know I'm pushing it.

"45% and that's it!"

"You got yourself a deal, pretty boy."

"God, you are evil, aren't you? And don't call me pretty boy, sounds gay."

"Hey, you're the one who woke me up with empty stomach. And if I didn't know you that well, I'd think you were a homophobe."

"Nah, I'm gay-friendly dude. I love gays. Gays are cool."

"Ok, stop that. It's getting weird."

"Cool. See you tomorrow. Come over at 6."

"6? I thought the place opens at 8!"

"It's 6. There's a wedding reception tomorrow, we need to prepare lots of things. And no backing out. I've got everything recorded." he laughs.

"Jerk." I say, but the bastard hangs up before I let out other creative curse words.

So I have this shift at the cafe shop in the morning, and a god-knows-how-big wedding reception in the evening. May be I'll have to stay behind to help cleaning up. I bury my head deeper into the pillow, hugging the other closer, pull the blanket over my naked body. That 45% raise better be worth it.

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><p>Song used in this chapter: Nobody Knows Me - Madonna.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Just a quick note, I'm not abandoning this and I'll start posting this again after my final exam is over. Life's been a hassle and I can't find any time to get to write it. I have another completed one-shot named "Even if it takes forever" and if you have free time, give it a chance, see if it's to your liking :) Thanks for all the favorites and story alerts :D I've got this story planned out already, so when I have free time again it'd be updated daily. Also, if anyone want to chat/fangirling or keysmashing about Klaine/Glee with me, I have a tumblr here: youmovemecock. Finally, thank you for reading this, it means a lot to me.


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